


( sleep on the floor, dream about me )

by unfinishedidea



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2007-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedidea/pseuds/unfinishedidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When I don't touch you, it's a mistake in any life,<br/>in each place and forever.</i><br/>- "Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem", Bob Hicok</p>
            </blockquote>





	( sleep on the floor, dream about me )

Touring is one sequence of events after another, nonstop setting up and taking down and soundchecks and driving on endless highways, full of gaudy billboards and the constant passing of green exit signs. Night and day lose their meaning; there is only when they go on to play, and everything else.

It's the uncertain time between dark and dawn, and Patrick shouldn't be awake. But he is. Touring is one constant high ( on shows, on Red Bull, on life ), and sometimes it's hard to stop and slow down to the pace of ordinary motions. Patrick thinks it's ironic, because he knows that if you want to survive on tour, you get sleep when you can, but Patrick is also used to sleeping alone, and he can't help but be aware of Frank lying on the bed next to him.

It's the uncertain time of daynight when it feels like time has stopped, or stretched to infinity, when it feels like almost anything is possible. Almost everything is possible.

Patrick isn't sure exactly what hour it is, but it's likely to be something like four or five in the morning, the fine line between too late and too early: ( in Kansas they were refueling at a truck stop; between Connecticut and Maryland, Pete had been determined to make an appearance at AK-47 for Jesse's birthday, and they'd been late and stayed later; in Georgia, Patrick had been sleeping; in Vegas, they were at a nightclub, Pete laughing with his arm around Patrick, while Joe, in a surprising turn of role reversal, was back on the bus ).

Patrick blinks, and the air is dusted with what-ifs. Maybe there's a place where he never talks to Joe, never joins a ( the ) band, still lives in Glenview and works a 9 to 5 office cubicle job and is incomplete. Maybe there's a place where the timing's never right, Pete never knocks on Patrick's door, forgets the promise he made to Joe ( "Uh huh, yeah, I'll go tomorrow" ) and they never go careening on this wild, uncertain journey of _this-is-fucking-it_s.

Everything is painted with hues of blue, shadows of gray. Frank's hair curls on his cheek like question marks, and Patrick knows if he were to curve his hand around Frank, he could feel the faint knobs of Frank's spine like ellipses, running down his back like unfinished thoughts. One of Frank's hands is curled underneath him; the other is fanned on the sheets between them. Patrick's hand is lying next to it; their fingertips are not touching.

Frank's skin is darkened with lines, maps detailing the paths of his life: _this is where I've been, this is where I am, this is where I'm going_. Patrick wonders if he traced the patterns, he could read Frank's histories and futures like an unwritten book, could read his heartbreaks and triumphs and moments of breathless wonder.

Patrick thinks, _Maybe there's a place where I never met you_.

Frank stirs, his hand on the sheets curling slightly, and opens his eyes. They're nothing but dark in this light.

"Hi," Frank says sleepily, mouth curving into a vague grin.

"Hi," Patrick echoes, softly.

The corners of Frank's mouth lift up in a real smile, and then his eyes blink close, and he slides his hand over Patrick's, winding their fingers together.

Something in Patrick unclenches, breaks apart, and he closes his eyes, and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> For [we are cities](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities), [May 08 07](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/78223.html). Title from Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl, by Broken Social Scene.


End file.
